


Maternity

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: Paternal Egality [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Artistic Differences, Casual Cannibalism, Future Fic, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Murder Husbands, No children were eaten in the making of this fic, Post-Mpreg, Post-Season/Series 03, Will and Hannibal's disobedient sons, Will is mildly concerned that Hannibal wants to eat their baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 07:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12836382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: Toby's vegetarian phase had been even funnier, and Will was convinced that Hannibal had never quite forgiven him for it. Toby sometimes requested his favourite recipes from that time, ostensibly because he loved them, but probably because he enjoyed to see Hannibal grit his teeth.





	1. Chapter 1

Hannibal’s disappointment is a like a living, breathing entity, spreading out between them. A thick, viscous liquid, dark as blood but bitter and cold. Will cannot help but be darkly amused by it, careful to conceal his smirk behind his wine glass. They rarely eat alone, preferring family dinners with the boys. Vasili is in Florence at an elite academy for the summer, his dedication to the violin and cello dangerously intense (Will refers to it as ‘summer camp’, and takes great pleasure in Hannibal’s winces). Tobias is eating in the kitchens, in disgrace.

If Hannibal were able to have his way, their eldest would be sulking in his room with no supper. But as Will is sympathetic to his plight, he has commuted this punishment to the best of his ability. Hannibal’s disappointment has not yet moulded into intense fury, but given time, Will knows it is headed there. Poor, rude Italians will be dropping like flies, he thinks, but since those bodies will be a substitute for Toby, Will cannot feel any pity for them. Will would sacrifice the entire Italian population, if it would keep his husband and his son from coming to blows. His old fears have resurfaced, raising the hairs on his arms. Toby is pushing Hannibal to the limits of his self-control. Though not yet irredeemable, Will knows Toby is headed down a path that may destroy any salvageable relationship between father and son. Will is currently the only fragile thread that may prevent it; if the two don’t snap him in half in a tug of war first.

This is not the only time fierce animosity has reared between them. Hannibal and Tobias are equally stubborn, both particular and fussy with details. Will was often caught between them in the early teenage years, when Toby’s rebellious streak began. Most parents would categorise this as unflattering clothing choices, wild hair styles and dyes, perhaps even a tattoo or bizarre piercing. But Toby was always a refined creature, for all that he is half of Will. His rebellion came in the form of an incurable admiration for post-impressionism, covering his room in beautiful replicas and posters of work by Cezanne, Gaugin, and others.

A particular pointillist piece by Seurat so enraged Hannibal, he took it out to the courtyard and set it alight. Toby responded by promptly booking a flight to Amsterdam, where he roamed around the Van Gogh museum, before spending a great deal of time exploring the Dutch countryside. The tortured artist’s motherland inspired him to paint his own homages, in oil and watercolour. There was a frosty silence between father and son when he eventually returned home, which Will had attempted to bridge with maternal cosseting. Toby's vegetarian phase had been even funnier, and Will was convinced that Hannibal had never quite forgiven him for it. Toby sometimes requested his favourite recipes from that time, ostensibly because he loved them, but probably because he enjoyed to see Hannibal grit his teeth.

Something had changed, after the home invasion that Hannibal murderously prevented, which frightened their darling so. For a few years after, Toby suffered from sleepwalking. Will would come upon him in the gardens or the kitchen, feet filthy and skin frozen, staring with unseeing eyes. The experience bonded them, though Will no longer suffered from the same ailment. Not since he had embraced the darkness within. The stag had become a friend, the wendigo a welcome shadow. No longer sublimating him into a foreign killer, merely observing the terrible creature he had become.

Hannibal had watched with pursed lips, resigned, whenever Toby curled up into Will’s lap, after waking in an unexpected place. Their boy was happy to be stroked and coddled. Welcomed his mother’s touch, folded into Will’s warmth as though he wanted to re-bond with him, and never birth into adolescence. Hannibal would grimace but allow it, worried that if left untreated, their boy would develop a crippling neurosis. Hannibal abhorred spoilt, whiny children, so he took pains to ensure Will could not pamper Toby overmuch.

Still, Toby would sit on their bed while Will dressed for social gatherings that he was too young to attend, complimenting his choice of tie or perfume. Toby was never saddened by not attending. He was as belligerent as his mother, preferring his own company to that of the children in their social circle. Will would press kisses into his hair, and whisper that he too, would much prefer to stay home and read him a story. In this way, they were two antisocial peas in one pod. Hannibal was the knife of reality, splitting them open and into the salad bowl.

Despite all of Hannibal’s intensive work, Toby was always too much of a mamma’s boy to seize the limelight. As with all his failures, Hannibal refused to admit defeat. And so this latest stalemate had risen between them. It was a far sight more offensive to Hannibal’s sensitivities than wearing the wrong jacket to dinner, or refusing to attend a cocktail party, however, and Toby would suffer for his defiance.

“Your aunt and uncle had very little input into your choice to become a medical doctor, you once told me.” Will said, in a feeble attempt to keep the peace. Hannibal could not empathise with Toby enough to set himself into his son’s position.

“They were not my parents.” Hannibal dismissed the comparison, as though Will needed the reminder.

“They raised you for a time, provided you with a home. Their advice held value.” Will pointed out, to which Hannibal made a non-committal hum. “And yet you defied them, and forged a path for yourself.”

Hannibal glared at him across from his steak, a juicy cut from a rude waiter.

They ate in silence for a while longer, but Will was stubborn enough to press the matter. With Vasili away at the music institute, the house was already too quiet. He didn’t want these 'couple’s dinners' to become the norm.

Their younger son was boisterous, having an enthusiasm for life that came seemingly from nowhere. Naturally more cheerful than Hannibal or Will could ever feign to be. Some of it was a cover, occasionally, whenever Hannibal’s inattention was too obvious. A second child had not been anticipated, nor initially any more welcome than the first. Whereas Will was fiercely devoted to both his children, Hannibal tolerated the extra addition to the family, the way most spouses tolerated a bad habit or an irritating hobby. Hannibal had no need for 'an heir and a spare', the truly unfortunate fact being that Vasili was actually more suited to uphold his ideals, taking after his father far more than Toby did.

After several years, Hannibal had managed to warm to Vasili. Now, they often enjoyed actual hunting trips together, shooting game in the forest that surrounded their sprawling home. Vasili was a perfectionist, and extremely talented in music. Of this, Hannibal was immensely proud, and he had learned to be forthcoming with his praise. Vasili shined under any attention.

But there was a hollow look to his gaze sometimes, as though he somehow remembered the early years of his life; Hannibal’s disinterest, and Will’s desperate attempts to disguise it. Disinterest was far safer than Hannibal's hungry affection however. So there had been perks to his lack of interest in Vasili's formative years. Still, there had been times when Will had been worried that Hannibal might consider simply eating the unwelcome intrusion into their family-of-three. But despite his misgivings, Hannibal's altered understanding of love and respect regarding Will always reassured him. Hannibal no longer lashed out at people Will was close to, in order to punish him, because Will was now entirely his. And that was worthy of constant reward, regardless of more unwanted children.

“Wilful filial disobedience is an offence even unto God. The honour and respect of one’s parents is the fifth of all commandments. Coming ahead of all the negative orders, the instances of what thou shalt not do.” Hannibal said, in the tone of a bored reminder, bringing Will back to the present conversation.

Will raised an incredulous, amused eyebrow. “And Toby should follow such dogma? Disregarding, of course, the parts about murder, theft and covetousness?”

Hannibal sighed, extremely put-upon. “Advocating for the devil, darling?”

Will shrugged, but did not deny it. “Toby has always been independent. He will go his own way, no matter our opinions. The more you push, the greater the resentment, and risk that he won’t come back.”

Hannibal straightened, alarmed. “You believe he would abandon us permanently?”

“University is not an abandonment, Hannibal,” Will moaned, already bored with the tedious nonsensical discussion. He had a sudden vision of Hannibal locking an ankle cuff, secured by a long chain, onto Toby. Or Hannibal stuffing their son down a well, like Miriam Lass, until Toby lost all 'wilful disobedience'. The thought made him swallow down bile, which Will chased away with a heavy gulp of wine.

“One could argue the Università di Bologna is an abandonment of good taste, and all rational sense.” Hannibal sniffed. Will rolled his eyes impolitely, at his husband’s continued theatrics.

“He won’t be persuaded by threats,” Will cautioned him, taking another long sip of his wine. His food was rather neglected at this point, but Hannibal did not comment, so Will carried on without interruption; “Since you refuse to allow him to attend early, we have almost two years before this becomes a real issue. Will you not grant him time to indulge his curiosity?”

“Children who attend University ahead of their peers find it very difficult to integrate into society. And this current fascination with forensic criminology can lead nowhere.” Hannibal countered, “As you well know. Any career in law enforcement or the associated scientific professions will mean a cover story we cannot be a part of. We shall lose him, perhaps irrevocably.”

Will let out a heavy sigh. “I was a cop. Toby is just exploring the hero-worship aspect of positive parent-child bonds. It isn’t a serious career choice, and he knows it. He loves this family, despite its abnormality, and you know full well his interests lie above simple law enforcement. He would make a fine lawyer.”

“With the potential to garner far too much spotlight. It is entirely unacceptable.” Hannibal said decisively, with the hard edge to his voice that signified danger. It was entirely possible Hannibal would lock Toby in his suite, or confine him to the grounds of the manor. He always was greedy with his toys.

As usual, Will ignored the dangerous tone entirely. “You wish for him to emulate you in temperament, and yet punish him for doing exactly that. Would you class that as acceptable behaviour, Dr Lecter?”

A minute twitch flexed in Hannibal’s jaw. They very rarely alluded to their origins in Virginia and Maryland. Rarer still did they call each other by their assumed names in social settings. Real names were used in private, but they almost always used terms of endearment outside of the house. It was considered an incredibly saccharine feature of their relationship, by their socialite acquaintances. It was a disguise, of course, one that had bled into their home life also. They changed names so frequently in the beginning, it was practical to get into the habit of not using fake names often. Lest they slip up, and forget the characters they were supposed to be. 

So for Will to refer to their unofficial therapy ‘conversations’ was extremely unusual, and worthy of note. Hannibal set down his fork in response to the almost unprecedented experience. He appeared to mull over Will’s words, perhaps even their entire conversation.

“You have a solution in mind?” Hannibal deduced, “A compromise of some sort.”

Will took a moment to swirl his blood-red wine, savouring the victory. Hannibal knew his own approach would lead nowhere, and so had conceded to ask for Will’s advice. It was ridiculous that he had not considered Will to be the pre-eminent authority on Toby in the first instance. The maternal bond had been thick since the moment of conception, and only strengthened by their son’s hereditary personality traits.

“Vilniaus Universitetas,” Will eventually said, putting him out of his misery.

“One of the oldest Universities in Northern Europe,” Hannibal blinked, thoroughly nonplussed. Will knew the mention of an institution so far away, in another country entirely, had never come up between Hannibal and Toby. Talk of University had devolved into furious hissing over degree choices and distant Italian locales.

“Certainly the largest in Lithuania.” Hannibal continued, still with that same bewildered tone.

“They offer criminology, business law, political science… and a whole host of other suitable subjects.” Will revealed, a sly smile spreading across his lips.

Hannibal’s look was a narrow, suspicious one. “Has Tobias mentioned his interest to you, or was it your suggestion?”

“Mine,” Will conceded, “Which is why I chose somewhere with topics that currently interest him. And you know how much he adores your stories of Lithuania.”

“I imagine it is much changed since I last saw it.” Hannibal mused.

Will had taken the boys to Castle Lecter once, when they had been forced to separate. After several months in Sweden, they had made the detour on their way home. Will had been loathe for the boys to miss out on the opportunity, when they were so close by. Hannibal had declined, going home to Italy in order to lay the groundwork for their new life instead.

Both boys had been utterly charmed by the romantic ruin, the body Will left there long since cleared away by local LEOs. The children had been enchanted by Lithuania ever since, though they had already been fond of the stories Will and Hannibal told of their respective homelands.

Unfortunately, Venice was no longer an option, but they had settled quite nicely in Bari for a year, before rejoining civilisation in Genoa. Will very much enjoyed living in these coastal cities, but everything grew stale after years of frequent relocation.

Hannibal considered the idea slowly, silently. Eventually he tipped his head in slight approval. “I have no doubt Tobias could excel anywhere. But Vilniaus- Lithuania- is very far away. He may choose to remain there for the holidays.”

Hannibal’s disapproval was clear. He was far too possessive of his legacy, to allow Toby so far out of his sight. It had been a struggle for Vasili to gain permission to go to Florence for the summer, less than three hours away. And Will was counting on that possessiveness to tip the scale.

So Will hummed in agreement, not mentioning the gentrified farmhouse just outside of Kaunas, an hour and a half from Vilniaus, that he’d already enquired after. Hannibal needed time to come up with the suggestion himself. Like Toby, he was stubborn. He had been adamant about not returning to live in Lithuania, despite Will’s mastery of the language, and their boys’ enthusiasm for the country. This little manipulation would be forgiven, Will was assured of it. So long as it fostered harmony between Hannibal and their eldest son, it was worth every deceptive step.


	2. Chapter 2

Will and Hannibal are both in attendance at the sonata, along with all the other proud parents of the academy’s attendees. It has been some years since either of them haunted Florence’s cobbled, dimly-lit streets. Will knows Hannibal longs to stalk his old hunting ground through the gloom, perhaps providing one last encore for _Il Monstro_.

Will kept a jealous hand clamped around Hannibal’s wrist or forearm throughout the soirée, preventing him from slipping out into the fog unnoticed. Hannibal pursed his lips in annoyance, but said nothing. He was never keen on having his freedom restricted. But he smirks and claps at the close of the performance, despite the many flaws his discerning ear is sure to have noticed throughout.

Will only heard a few botched screeches. For the most part, he is still as uneducated about classical music as he was living in Wolf Trap. But he is beaming as he watches Vasili take a bow, carefully holding the neck of his cello. Now that he has entered adolescence, Vasili is a more serious-faced child, smartly dressed in his spotless performance suit.

Their son had a violin solo earlier, beginning a movement, but has spent most of the night with the larger instrument tucked between his knees. The deep notes he provided swelled and rolled, providing a deep melancholy undertone throughout the evening. Will is sure even Hannibal could not find fault with their son’s performance.

Tobias looks dreadfully bored, having spent the gathering of relatives beforehand, and the intermission, surrounded by chittering peers. The elder siblings and cousins of the performers. He hated every second, as usual, carefully concealing that fact with aloof courtesy and flawless conversation. Will saw him eyeing the miniature skewers that secured canapés, and the scarf-like neckline of a particular girl’s dress, that would have easily strangled her with a quick application of force. He steered his son away from idle dark dreams, introducing him to a wealthy Neapolitan couple, that had been attempting to charm Hannibal. Hannibal did not look at their son, letting Will introduce him, in favour of his champagne flute. They were still engaging in their silent stand-off. Will was pretending not to realise, still speaking to each of them normally, as through he could not comprehend the icy frustration between father and son.

Now, the three of them clapped fervidly in their bonded intention to support Vasili. Will, because he is purely delighted for his son; Toby pleased that his brother’s talent has been recognised. Hannibal, because Vasili has provided him with an opportunity to preen, and done nothing to bring shame upon the family. Or more accurately, upon Hannibal himself. Will suspects they are all a form of property to Hannibal. Not so lowly as chattel, but always considered as a reflection upon himself. They do not stand alone upon their own merits in his eyes. The boys are echos of Hannibal, his unintended magnum opus. A living embodiment of his righteous magnitude, after so many years providing his own lifeless tributes to himself. It should bother Will, that their husband sees them as his only living ‘sounder of three’.

But as long as Hannibal considers them worthy worshippers at the alter of his home, hearth and dinner table, they are safe from the deadliest edition of his wrath. Will has no doubt Hannibal has accepted his irreplaceability. They have attempted life apart at several junctures, and found it to be intolerable, unsustainable. Will’s empathy disorder means that he can envision Hannibal precisely in his absence, to the point of interacting with his imagined self. Hannibal has no such recourse. He can only wander his own memory palace, in fond remembrance as he looks upon the versions of Will he keeps there. The boys have gained an extension of Will’s immunity from Hannibal’s machinations and weapons. Whether it is to be life-long remains to be seen.

For now, Will puts such abhorrent thoughts out of his mind, as they wander into the ballroom, to meet their son. He curls his arm around Hannibal’s elbow, flashing him a look of discomfort that is only partly feigned. Will is still not fond of crowds, but there are many things he would tolerate, for his children. Italian families throng in a ceaseless hoard of chattering mouths and glittering jewellery, as they descend upon their smug offspring, swaggering and bragging about the concert.

Vasili returns to the fold with little fanfare. He is a plump-faced child, slightly small for his age, and yet to grow out of his puppy fat. He was a pear-shaped baby, round in the cheek and plump in the bottom, Will recalls with sudden fondness. A fat little avocado, warm in his arms, with spindly little limbs all tucked in, always reluctant to stretch. Vasili still sleeps curled up in a little ball, even now.

“Baby, you were wonderful,” Will gushed in Italian, holding out open arms.

Vasili blushed, but allowed himself to be gathered close and embraced, then smothered with kisses. Hannibal let out a hum of disapproval. He detested suffocating parents, but Will had not seen his little boy all summer, and did not care. Toby took advantage when he drew back momentarily, to dart forward and ruffle Vasili’s hair. A proclamation that he had done well was followed by a masculine clap on the shoulder, his fraternal duties discharged. Will could not stop himself from hovering. He stepped only to one side to wrap an arm around his youngest son’s shoulders, allowing Hannibal access.

As usual, Hannibal greeted their child with a solemn nod, before launching into his analysis of the concert. He is derogatory of course, though his disparaging remains mostly generalised to the orchestra at large. Then he began Vasili’s personal assessment:

“You remain underconfident at speed,” Hannibal sniffed, “though your held notes show promise and improvement vastly, on the violoncello. Your violin solo, however…”

Will felt Vasili stiffen under his touch and tensed, feeling his claws extend, ready to lash out and rend.

“… was far superior to any other unaccompanied piece of the night.” Hannibal concluded with his characteristic repressed smile. “I was most proud.”

For a moment Vasili watched him in silence, bright blue eyes skittering across Hannibal’s face. Evaluating the truth there. He said not a word, simply flung himself at Hannibal, and wrapped his arms around his father’s waist. Hannibal rocked back in surprise to absorb the blow, his eyelids fluttering as he regarded the situation. Vasili buried his face into his stomach, his arms wrapped tight about him. Hannibal blinked several times more, before settling a gentle hand in their son’s hair, the other running in soothing circles on his back.

Toby sent Will a disbelieving look, eyebrows raised. Hannibal isn’t often physically affectionate, especially not in public. An arm round Will or a greeting kiss was about the extent of it. He rarely touched the boys at all, as through the inherent sloppiness of children might rub off on him, without appropriate distance. Will overcompensates with cuddles and maternal warmth. He has fond memories of his own father’s gentle touch, reluctant to force his own children to go without. They all make do with Papa's idiosyncrasies, as they have no other recourse. 

*

Vasili was quiet on the ride home, tired from the excitement, sleepy from adrenaline-drop no doubt. Hannibal drove them, Will curled at his side, a hand on his knee. He was grateful for Hannibal’s compassion tonight. No doubt he had criticisms for Vasili, but kept them behind his teeth, thus bolstering their boy’s self-esteem. It cost Hannibal nothing not to speak his mind. He held back his forked tongue for the pigs that never made it to their dinner table, but were watched with contemptuous glares whenever encountered along their social calendar. Will was glad he had chosen to channel some of that restraint toward their son, who was far more deserving of it.

Eventually both their boys dropped to sleep in the backseat, lulled by the soft tunes on Classic FM and the steady hum of the Bentley as they soared below golden streetlamps.

“You’ll have to lift Vasili inside, I think,” Will murmured, to which Hannibal hummed in assent. “He’s a little too heavy for me to carry about, as I used to.”

“Do I detect a note of wistfulness?” Hannibal asked, equally quiet.

“Premature empty-nest issues, I suppose.”

Will squeezed Hannibal’s knee, almost apologetic. He knew his husband would be glad when the manor was all theirs. He could not be sour at him for it; there were times when Will longed for the privacy that came from the two of them sharing a space, no staff, no visitors. Late mornings fucking in last night’s ruined sheets, breakfast at lunchtime, wrapped only a decadent silk robe. Whole days dedicated to the pursuit of pleasure, nights lost to the frenzy of the hunt. All of it submerged by the advent of children. He could not bring himself to regret the idea of the impending empty nest.

“Does it have to be?” questioned Hannibal, after a silence so long, Will had lost the thread of their conversation. When he regained it, he straightened in shock, then shook it off as foolishness. Hannibal could not have inferred what he supposed, but whatever scheme he did have in mind was sure to be specific in its cruelty.

“Have to be an empty nest? What, are you planning to replace the wine cellar with actual cells? Our own personal menagerie, to keep and consume? Battery farmed, versus our usual free range.” Will guessed, darkly amused. He tossed Hannibal a cruel, wolfish smile. “It holds a certain appeal, I suppose.”

Hannibal blinked, regarding him in surprise, “Why darling, such a bleak notion came to you rather quickly. Something you have been mulling over for some time?”

Will snorted unflatteringly. “Not hardly. Miriam Lass,” he explained, “I had occasion to think about her. Her imprisonment.”

“Oh?” Hannibal prompted, but Will did not heed him.

“Nothing consequential,” Will shook his head, too clear away the reoccurring image, of Toby stranded down a well. “Just a passing reminder.”

Hannibal’s wordless noise was of disbelief, but he dropped the subject regardless, likely to revisit it again when Will least expected it. Hannibal brought the conversation back to his intended suggestion with ease, catching Will off guard, when he said: “I was actually referring to the more conventional way to bolster our family’s numbers.”

Will turned to stare at the side of his face, boring holes with the intensity of his look, but Hannibal only watched the road, unflinchingly.

“A baby?” he asked after considering the options, trying to determine if Hannibal could possibly mean anything else. Will’s voice was hoarse, throat tingling with a sudden itch. Hannibal tipped his head with a smile, a short, austere movement. Always so magnanimous, Will’s husband.

“You’re suggesting we have another baby? You.” Will repeated for clarification, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

“We have proven we are successful at breeding, and are not without adequate funds. You are a dedicated mother, Will. I have found myself pondering, in idle moments, your shapely impregnated form. I should consider it a great misfortune, to never set eyes on such a thing again.”

For a while, there was nothing but heavy breathing to fill the cooling silence in the car. Will felt the dense rock-bulge in his stomach liquify from a block of fear into a tide of fury.

“Bullshit,” he spat, ripping his hand away from Hannibal. He considered the dark empty forest surrounding the empty highway.

Hannibal said nothing, apparently to allow him time to calm down. It only made Will angrier.

“Stop the car.” He hissed, still mindful of their sleeping boys. He repeated the order when Hannibal shot him a quelling look.

They met in front of the bonnet; legs encased in headlights, their faces shrouded in shadow. Hannibal watched placidly as Will fought to contain his rage, fists flexing, fighting the urge to spit and holler. The air was frigid, their every breath visible like a cloud of smoke.

“Speak,” Will snapped, eyes hard with flint.

“I have already named my intentions.” Hannibal maintained, “You are the one who has yet to provide an answer. Or a counter-offer.”

Will crossed his arms across his chest, as much to keep warm as to stop himself from striking out and starting a physical fight. He knew Hannibal would have no compunction against do so in front of their children.

 “You’re lying.” Will snarled, “For no good reason. What have I done to piss you off?”

Hannibal regarded him a moment, before realising; “You believe I am dangling something I do not intend to have you obtain.”

“To rip it away, or ridicule me for being foolish enough to believe you.” Will confirmed, scornfully. “I thought we’d moved past such power games, years ago, but apparently not.”

A peculiar look passed across Hannibal’s features, one he was familiar with, even in the dark. Hurt. When he felt Will was using him ill, insulting him, rejecting him. It was a rare offence, but he knew the resultant face Hannibal would pull. The situation was rapidly devolving, and he didn’t know how he could claw it back to reality.

When he’d been pregnant with Vasili, Hannibal had been furious. He’d killed messily, indiscriminately, men and women who had trapped their partners into relationships via pregnancy. Will had responded by taking Toby on an extended holiday, insulted by the association. Will had done just fine before Hannibal intruded into his life, and he had been the one to build a stable life without him, while Hannibal was locked away. He was not the one who had dragged them into a relationship and he resented the insinuation. He had come back in time for Hannibal to deliver their second baby into the world, squalling in blood. Hospitals were a risk they never took.

Vasili had been an easy baby to love. Quiet, fat like a steamed pudding, with that soft baby scent. Periwinkle blue eyes and a shock of dark hair. Will had been so scared that his distraction would endanger Toby, that after the first few months he’d sent their older son away, to study art for half a year in Paris. He’d come back enamoured with post-impressionism. Will suspected Hannibal was still sore at him for it. He had not warmed to the new baby in Toby’s absence, watching with distaste whenever their pudgy boy reached out to him. Will was always there to sweep in and scoop him up, blowing raspberries on his tummy and revelling in the resultant giggles. Hiding his resentment in the folds of baby blankets, smoothing out his frowns amongst clouds of talcum powder.

Hannibal had suggested a nanny, if the strain of two boys meant sending one away. Will never revealed that he was worried, while he was preoccupied, that Toby may fall prey to Hannibal’s deprived cravings. Will would sit on the bed, sleepy baby Vasili curled up beside him, one hand sacrificed in the wrapped hold of all his baby’s limbs. He would hum or sing snippets of lullabys, as Hannibal would sneer, busy packing away his tools to forge out into the night to slaughter someone.

He had raised Vasili alone, those first few years. Hannibal was a silent spectre that would attend the playroom occasionally, for diagnostic check-ups, to ensure the child was developing normally. Toby was devoted to Vasili, leading on romps through the grounds, kicking up leaves, conducting swordfights with twigs, and building messy mixed-media collages. It wasn’t until Vasili’s music tutor extolled his virtues, telling them what promise he showed, that Hannibal shook off the scales of disinterest, and took a vested attention in the life of his child. And this was the man that proclaimed to want another one? Will could slit his throat for the audacity.

Hannibal seemed to collect his thoughts, opening his mouth to spill more persuasive, honeyed manipulations into Will’s ear. As though he weren’t already saturated.

“Don’t,” Will demanded, satisfied by the audible snap of Hannibal’s jaw closing. “Don’t say another word. I don’t want to hear anything more from you, tonight. I’m driving.” He decided the moment Hannibal took a half-step backward in the direction of the car door. He needed the distraction.

The rest of the journey passed in noiseless hostility, radiating from Will. He glanced in the rearview when re-staring the car, unsurprised to find Tobias staring back at him, one hand shielding his little brother protectively. You and I both, Will thought ferociously.

**Author's Note:**

> Please give me your thoughts! I am new to writing Hannibal fic, even tho I'm not new to the fandom :) Do let me know what you think of my characterisation.


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